by Barbara Mack
Dreaming of You
Barbara Mack
Dreaming of You
Copyright 2011 Barbara Mack
Chapter One
Duncan Murdoch sat up in his bed with a gasp, one hand clasped to the right side of his face. His hand lay on a flat, whitish scar that bisected his features from the corner of his lush, sensual mouth to where his ear lay flat against his well-shaped skull. The pain that he’d felt so long ago was only a ghost pain, and gradually he relaxed, his fingers idly tracing the wide seam.
Duncan had always thought the doctor who stitched his wound had been the final factor in his decision to become a doctor. He’d been kind and gentle, his big hands not hurting Duncan at all, and he’d given him a peppermint stick when he was done. He’d also been highly indignant when told how a lost nine-year-old boy had been attacked on the dock of a rough port town, and he’d insisted on going to the sheriff and swearing out a statement. The man his father hadn’t killed outright had been put into jail, and the doctor had a cold glint in his eye when he told Duncan that he intended to make sure the man paid for his crimes.
His kindness and outrage were a welcome change from the indifference of the people on the street who had stood by watching while his face was sliced open. The doctor had eased, just a little, that part inside of Duncan that had become hard and hated the ones who hadn’t lifted a finger to interfere.
And now that he wasn’t a skinny little boy, women seemed not to notice the scar. He was a big man, standing well over six feet in his stocking feet. He had a hard, muscular body with not an ounce of fat anywhere, broad through the chest and slim through the hips. His hair was as black and glossy as the night and he wore it longer than most men wore theirs, falling just past his collar, straight and shiny.
His eyes were the reason why women were so drawn to him, though. Crystal blue and thickly surrounded with a double row of black eyelashes, his eyes had made many a young—and not so young—woman fantasize about what it would be like to spend an hour or two in his bed. Some of them had even found out . . . for a time.
At thirty, he was unmarried and mostly happy with the situation. Duncan had been focused for years on school and studies, all his energy taken up by those things. His father had done his best to help his only child achieve his goals. He’d donated a large sum of money to the Medical College in St. Louis, and he’d studied there, and then done an internship with a prominent doctor who just happened to be a friend of his father’s.
A year ago, Duncan had answered an ad for a partner for a thriving medical office. As a result, Duncan was now practicing in Geddes, Missouri. Geddes was a small town, but had a large rural population, and this was what his partner, Dr. Isaac Fell, needed help with. There was just too much work for one man to handle, and Dr. Fell was getting old.
The only thing missing from his life was the woman.
Sometimes Duncan woke in the middle of the night with his arms reaching for a woman who was not there, his nostrils flared to better draw in her intoxicating scent. He’d had the dream since puberty, and it was always the same. She came to him, slipping into his bed in the middle of the night; he woke to her touch against his face, to the press of her trembling lips against his, the satin stroke of her naked skin upon his naked skin. He never saw her face, this woman, but he knew her body as well as he knew his own. They embraced with the ease of long practice, and their passion was a fire that burned them both in its flame.
His arms ached when he woke, ached for the woman that he’d never held. Even after the dream faded, the fragrance of her seemed to linger in his bed for hours. She fit perfectly under the shelter of his arm, fit him absolutely seamlessly. He’d looked for her in the eyes of many women, had searched in countless places for the warm smell of her body, but he’d never found her.
Until now.
He rubbed his chest now with a broad, large hand. His mouth twisted wryly. He’d finally found her, his woman, the one fated to be with him. And she was nothing like the woman he’d visualized.
Her name was Kathleen Donaldson.
He’d imagined this moment for many years, fantasizing about how it would be, adding to it in his daydreams as the years went on, making it richer and deeper. It had been his favorite fantasy, his fable that would come true. She was sweet, and docile; intelligent, but well content to let Duncan make the decisions. They were as one, after all; any decision he made would be the right one, the one she would make herself if given the choice. She would be the nurse to his doctor, and they would grow old together.
The first time Duncan had stood in Kathleen Donaldson’s presence it was all he could do not to hug her to him and tell all and sundry that he’d found the one he’d searched for nearly half his life. Kathleen had been across the room, and he’d noticed her, of course; no man could have missed the figure-hugging dress outlining the most outrageous curves he’d ever seen. Duncan had always been attracted to petite, curvy women, so he’d given her a discreet look or two while he made conversation with her mother, a charming lady who Kathleen had obviously inherited her shape from.
But when he’d stood next to her, he’d had a hard time breathing and his pulse accelerated unmanageably. Duncan fought for control as he stared into eyes the color of the sky, and the warm fragrance of her skin seemed to float all around him . . . the same fragrance that surrounded him when he woke clutching his pillow after dreaming of his lover.
Somehow he made it through the dinner without making a total fool of himself, though he was aware of being eyed strangely a couple of times. He could barely take his eyes from Kathleen long enough to hold a conversation. He was in a haze of happiness. At last she’d come to him. It was going to be so perfect. She was perfect.
But by the end of the night, Duncan was in a state of shock.
She was not perfect.
Kathleen was not sweet. She was not docile. She was high-tempered, sharp-tongued, and bossy. She was twenty-six, and according to gossip had turned down more than one proposal. And she could not have made it any clearer than if she’d tattooed it on her forehead: she did not like Duncan. Not even one little bit.
He’d spent days brooding over it. How could his vision be so wrong? Kathleen could not possibly be the one for him. She was too volatile, too sure of herself. Her opinions were too
strong. She talked too much. She did just as she pleased, when she pleased, and she’d a low opinion of men in general and him in particular. This woman wouldn’t be an oasis of peacefulness, as he’d envisioned. She would drive him to madness. He counselled himself to forget all about her, for she was obviously not right for him.
Still, Kathleen drew him. The very scent of her meant desire to him; he’d awakened aroused with that fragrance in his nostrils too many times. The way she smelled seemed to him to be the very incarnation of carnal things, of midnight assignations, of lover’s kisses. The very air around her seemed to shimmer with passion.
Duncan found himself seeking her out; he couldn’t seem to help himself. He was aided in this by her mother, who obviously had high hopes of her daughter marrying the young, handsome doctor. He received frequent invitations to dine at their house. Pies, cakes, and cookies arrived at his office with frequency, Lanny Donaldson claiming Kathleen had made them, though Kathleen never seemed to know anything about the offerings. Kathleen’s eyes snapped fire at him at every meeting, and she scalded him with her sharp tongue and harsh words, yet he couldn’t help himself. The scent of Kathleen’s body lingered in his nostrils long after she’d left his presence, indeed seemed to cling to his clothing and his hand if he happened to touch her. So he touched her a lot just so that he could smell her sweet, spicy scent upon his hands.
How ironic that once he’d found her, his mystery woman,
she wouldn’t want him. She begrudged him the very air he breathed, wished him to be as far away from her as possible.
Preferably in hell.
Especially since he’d begun blackmailing her.
Chapter 2
Kathleen scowled across the street at that odious popinjay, Duncan Murdoch. She blew a blond hair out of her eyes impatiently and crossed her arms over her impressive bosom with a huff. Look at him, talking and laughing with everyone, pretending to be such a fine, upstanding citizen when he was actually a base coward with no morals.
She tapped a small foot on the wooden walkway, her petticoats swish-swishing around her. The man was downright lascivious. She’d been on the receiving end of his lusting glances more than once. He ogled her every chance he got, and had from the moment they had met, not to mention following her around wherever she went, snooping and prying into business that hadn’t anything to do with him.
And as for her response to him ... the first time Kathleen had met Duncan Murdoch, she’d looked up into crystal blue, piercing eyes, and felt a funny flutter in her stomach. Duncan had smiled down at her calmly, taking his time looking her over. She’d felt a rush of heat when his gaze rested on her bosom for a moment longer than was polite, and she’d bristled at his unabashed appraisal of her face and figure. She admitted grudgingly to herself that he was one of the most attractive men she’d ever met, but that didn’t give him the right to look at her as if she were some horse he was thinking of buying.
He’d smiled at her, his teeth a flash of white in his dark face, the scar on his right side crinkling up. Kathleen’s eyes were drawn to it. Absently, she’d noted that it took nothing away from his rugged good looks; the scar made him seem slightly wicked and dangerous. Some women might like that, but she certainly did not. She wasn’t some flirty young thing who liked to play with fire. Fire burned, and she knew very well to keep her hands out of it.
She’d tried her very best to ignore the way that he made her feel, and it hadn’t been easy. Especially now that he’d given her this ultimatum.
The things she did were her own business, and he could just keep his big nose out of it. When he’d found out her secret, she’d been scared out of her wits for days . . . when she was not blazingly angry, that is. He’d told her he would be collecting a prize for his silence. She’d known right then what he wanted. There was no mistaking that gleam in his eye.
She glowered across the street at him once again, inadvertently frightening a small boy with her fierce look. He began to cry and cling to his mother’s leg, and she gave Kathleen a glower of her own. Kathleen felt guilt shimmy up her spine, and she threw her shoulders back unconsciously. No sense standing over here and glaring at the wrong person. Her own personal cross to bear had just now caught sight of her and was headed this way. She marched purposefully toward him, head high.
She tilted her head back and stared up into his hateful face as he came close.
“Let’s go,” she said shortly. “I don’t have all day to stand around and lollygag with you, Duncan Murdoch. You are ten minutes late.”
“Doc Fell was late getting back. You saw him go into the surgery, I’m sure.” He slanted his crystal blue gaze toward her, and Kathleen felt the jolt of it. “Babies come when they want to, not when it is convenient, Kathleen.”
She found herself wishing for the thousandth time that he was not so handsome, so masculine, so virile. Sullenly she put the tips of her fingers onto his proffered arm, then nearly snatched them back again when she felt the heat of his muscled biceps. Why did a man who made the hackles rise on the back of her neck have the power to take her breath away? Life wasn’t fair.
She made sure to wipe her face clean of expression as he handed her up into the rig, and she drew away from his touch with a sniff, jerking her arm from his grasp as soon as possible. She glowered even more fiercely when he chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she hissed at him.
“I’m surprised you haven’t set the ground around you aflame. I can literally feel the heat rising from you.”
Kathleen lifted her chin. “Well, I tend to be offended by criminals. Blackmailers are not usually my favorite type of person to go on a buggy ride with.”
“I prefer to think of it as getting my way, not blackmail.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, but Kathleen refused to be charmed.
“You can think of it any way you want,” she said sharply. “That doesn’t make it any less a crime.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” he shot back. His big hands gripped the reins so hard, Kathleen could see his knuckles turning white. “If you hadn’t broken the law in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this position.”
She turned on the padded seat to glare at him. “It’s a stupid, immoral law and you know it. All I do is follow my conscience. At least I’ve got one.”
His heavy brows drew together, and he slapped the reins over the horse’s back, a signal to go faster. “And I don’t?”
His voice sent a shiver through Kathleen, and she stared at his blade of a nose and the scar on the side of his face. His voice was deceptively slow and gentle, but she knew that he was angry. She avoided staring at his mouth, the way she sometimes felt compelled to do. His voice was like honey; it slid slickly all over her and made her want to lick her lips. And his.
Damn him.
“No,” she said bluntly, ignoring the way her heart beat heavily in her chest. This man held her entire future in his hands, and not just hers alone, but she refused to cower down to him. He wanted something from her, she thought cynically, her hands shaking despite her brave thoughts. He was not going to turn her in for a few harsh words . . . at least not until he got what he wanted.
“If you had a conscience you wouldn’t be doing this,” she said, her voice betraying not one iota of the turmoil inside her. “You’ve been a guest in my parents’ home, sat at their table and eaten with them, pretended to my mother that you are courting me. A man with a conscience wouldn’t have done those things.” Kathleen turned her head, inexplicable tears welling up. She willed them back. He would never see her agitation. Never.
“Half the town believes that we are in the middle of the love affair of a lifetime. They don’t know that you are an unconscionable scoundrel, a bastard with no scruples or principles. They don’t know that you’d resort to rape to get what you want.”
Duncan pulled back on the reins, and the buggy stopped so suddenly that Kathleen was hurled off the padded seat. Only Duncan’s big hand tangling itself in the back of her skirt kept her from flying out of the buggy. He hauled her backwards and pulled her by both arms up to eye level. Way up. Kathleen swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Temper no longer simmered in the depths of his extraordinary eyes, it shot sparks and Kathleen feared it would send her up in flames.
“Let’s get something straight,” he snarled. “Rape is not what I have in mind!”
“Oh, no?” Kathleen raised one supercilious eyebrow. “You are not going to force me to have sexual relations with you, after all?”
She refused to look down or back down, even though they were in an isolated area. Even though they were all alone. Even though she was scared spitless. Her sky-blue eyes locked with his icy gaze, and his grip hurt her upper arms. He sat her back onto the seat with a plop.
“Your mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days, Kathleen,” Duncan said in a tone that sounded almost weary. He looked at a spot somewhere over the horse’s head, and picked the reins back up again.
“That is my business, surely,” Kathleen said, despite her shaking hands. She raised her chin and stared blindly ahead. “None of yours. I have made a bargain with you, and I will hold to it. Strictly to it.” Her mouth set grimly in a firm line. “Nothing else that I do is any of your concern.”
Duncan sighed, and Kathleen could have sworn she heard guilt in the sound. What an actor he was, she thought cynically, even holding to some internal script when there was no one around to hear it e
xcept her.
“All right, Kathleen. All right.”
They spent the rest of the ride in a silence fraught with tension. Duncan had expressed a desire to meet with Granny Thompson, a local herbalist, and that was where they were headed
now.
Kathleen and Granny were special friends and had been since the day Granny had found her crying on the banks of the river because her brother had stolen her stockings and shoes. Granny had taken her to her home, filled her full of cookies and milk, and then escorted her to her mother.
Granny dispensed herbal medicines, mostly folk remedies passed down from her mother, and Doctor Fell had always been one of the old woman’s advocates. He knew there were reasons why a woman wouldn’t come to him, and Granny often gave birth control methods to single women or married ones who could not afford more children. Dr. Fell admitted privately that he approved of this wholeheartedly, a surprising opinion coming from the male of the species. Kathleen’s forehead wrinkled. Would Duncan? Or would he try to run Granny out of business?
They pulled into the poor homestead, and Kathleen prickled when Duncan’s gaze swept the property, and she tried to look at it with his eyes, noticing for the first time how run down Granny’s house and yard was getting. The small house needed a coat of paint, and the porch was starting to sag on one side. A shabby log cabin quilt with a black center for the chimney hole was hanging from the window, and a large, battered drinking gourd hung on a hook on the front door.
